


My Heart is in Havana

by theLadyLazaruss



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chases, Drunkenness, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rough Sex, Season/Series 04, Semi-Public Sex, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLadyLazaruss/pseuds/theLadyLazaruss
Summary: Hannibal returns to their apartment in Havana after a shopping trip to find Will lounging on the chaise in the living room, eating chips and drinking whiskey in his boxers with their dogs.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 179
Collections: Hannigram_Reverse_Bang_2020





	My Heart is in Havana

**Author's Note:**

> Please find Britt's gorgeous mini-comic, and the inspiration for this piece, here!!
> 
> https://mferret9.tumblr.com/post/625449671831306240/hannigram-reverse-bang-2020

Hannibal Lecter sat in the quietest corner of _Siete Días_. He plucked another piece of grilled octopus through _salsa verde_ – the sauce drizzled over his fingers – and chewed it thoughtfully. A sip of his crisp mojito washed the richness down.

It had been a year since the Fall. That didn’t bode well for Jack and the FBI. Their scent was lost. How much it would broil Jack inside if he knew they were less than two thousand miles away. Hannibal smiled and sucked another tentacle. Looking out over into the Straits of Florida, Hannibal felt a deep sense of contentment.

He finished the mojito, and the meal, with the decadent sense of a marshmallow cushion against his temples. He had eaten little today, and their neighbours were generous with their drinks. For the first time in years, Hannibal allowed himself to feel tipsy.

It was a rich feeling. Laden and heavy; the alcohol sat in his bones as an old friend and he welcomed it delightfully. The kaleidoscope scents of the ocean and fish and working bodies, and the gorgeous sounds of stern and revelling Spanish, and the lingering salt on his tongue. Havana was a feast. It was their first port for a reason; beyond the deliberate lack of extradition treaty, it was a haven of culture. Hannibal would be genuinely sad to bid of farewell when the time came.

When. Not if. They had been here too long already. Hannibal was reluctant to move on, reluctant to disturb their new peace.

 _Will wrangled the main sail of_ Taza, _coaxing the temperamental sail to order. His veins rippled along the sun-kissed skin of his arms like rivers through marble, his curls and facial hair wild with sea-salt. He was an Adonis, brought to life through the breath and life of the sea, and the heat and minerals of freshly spilt blood. His eyes were the storm, his mouth the bulging plush of coral, his hands the exacting slice of sand against cliff; his heart as brazen and lethal as shark’s teeth…_

“Hmmm… my Will,” Hannibal mumbled to himself as he strode the promenade, adjusting the shopping bags on his wrist. The vivid memory faded sluggishly and clung to the vestiges of his senses. A sacred and gorgeous experience. One he revisited often when he was without him.

 _His Will_. Alone at home. A day of needed rest.

Hannibal spent his days as an art dealer. He had traded his woolen suits for a linen, lighter make, and convinced the mindless rich to part with their money. It was easier than psychiatry. Not as fulfilling, but it was easier to convince the gluttoned shallow to toss away their money than it was to coax a troubled soul to their light. He made do. It was made bearable by the company he kept at night. All he needed was to remember who was waiting for him.

Company he strode to now.

The rich Havana sunlight was fading below its inevitable horizon and Hannibal felt his feet hurrying. It had been a long day, made better by selective, beautiful purchases of fine gifts and a delicious meal, but not as good as it will be.

He strode along the winding, colourful streets, _avienda_ after next, doubling back on himself (just in case), before slipping down an oblique street, to an isolated street at the end of a desolate road. He looked upon the villa’s façade. It was an exquisite rendition of classic Spanish arches and heat effective ergonomics. Only the best for his _nakama_.

He ascended the stairs, letting the alcohol fog a little deeper in his mind now he was within safer harbour, and entered their domain.

“Hello, my darling boy,” he announced to the house, slipping between the fresco doors, “what did you get up to while I was…”

The love of his life, drenched in dusk light, was sprawled slovenly upon the chaise lounge of the open living area, naked but for his small shorts, fingers hovering mid mouthful above the depleted bowl of crisps. Their two dogs laid beside him, tongues lolling, one between his spread and bare legs and the other on the floor beside him.

Will Graham froze, horrendously caught.

Hannibal had murdered for far less in his time, but the thought tickled the outskirts of his mind as a meaningless reminder. Hannibal traced the crumbs over his love’s chest, where they stuck to the wings of his ribs and the dregs of whiskey that clung to the edges of his mouth. Hannibal suddenly felt very hungry. He set down the shopping bags and began to advance.

“Hannibal,” Will hastily ordered the dogs to bed, setting the bowl beside the almost empty whiskey glass. The glass was pooling moisture on the terrazzo tiles.

Hannibal kept coming.

Will held up a hand and the salt on them glistened. Goosebumps lit themselves in droves across his skin. His nipples contracted and darkened. They were dusted with fine crumbs.

Saliva pooled in the pits of Hannibal’s jaw.

“You told me to relax, Hannibal,” Will said.

“I did,” Hannibal purred, looming above his husband, “and you look very relaxed, Will.” He reached for the outstretched hand, curled his artisan fingers around Will’s wrist and sucked the salty fingers. Will was a feast for the senses. Hannibal could taste the junky snacks immediately – the obvious salt and vinegar chips, the more subtle richness of dark chocolate and…

Hannibal pulled off with a luxurious slurp. “Have you been missing me, Will?”

Will frowned, not quite – he blushed furiously and tried to tug his hand back, but Hannibal held it fast.

“There is no shame in it, Will,” Hannibal murmured into his skin, licking a long stripe on the inside of his wrist where the flavour was the strongest, semen caught in the crevices of skin not quite thoroughly washed.

“You’re–” Will struggled to find the words.

“Have I been too subtle about my enjoyment of you, Will? How remiss of me.” Hannibal shot forward, pinning Will to the lounge. He had the advantage of bulk and gravity and latched his mouth onto Will’s nipple, sucking it whole into his mouth. Will bucked and writhed, gasping, still trying to free his hands, legs kicking out uselessly.

“Hanni–”

Hannibal shoved his tongue into Will’s mouth, bearing the profiler down where he shivered, lit up by the press of Hannibal’s suit against his bare skin.

Will broke the kiss, gasping for air with a low moan, licking his lips. “You’ve been drinking,” he laughed gently.

“Yes,” Hannibal hummed into his neck, lapping the offered throat.

“Are you– _mhmf_ ,” Will curled his leg over Hannibal’s board hip and ground upwards, shivering with delight.

“Hmm…” Hannibal sighed into Will’s sun-kissed, salty skin, smacking his lips up the curve of Will’s ribs, teasing sensitive nerves, “quite possibly.”

Hannibal amorously decorated Will’s skin with bruises and swipes of his tongue chasing every crumb and kept a firm grip on his love’s arms as he feasted. It was a delicious appetiser. When there were no more obvious crumbs to lap with his tongue, Hannibal turned his attention downwards, licking across familiar territory. Will’s new tan was a beautiful colouring, shading the ripple of his muscles and highlighting his story of scars. The tiny blinks of white, speckled like pen strokes, but none as beautiful as the long, wavering slice across his abdomen. Hannibal kissed its length, brushing the catch of his stubble against the jumping skin. Above him, Will grunted, twitching and jerking, the newer skin extra sensitive.

The masculine scent of arousal was overwhelming, sticking inside Hannibal’s nose and the back of his palate, fresh and stale in equal measure. It wasn’t just on Will’s little shorts.

Hannibal raised his head, teeth gleaming. “ _Mylimasis_ ; here? In the lounge?” Will cursed him. “The windows are open; were you entertaining Havana?”

“I was quiet, Hannibal.”

“I doubt that very much, Will,” Hannibal’s lip curled, and there was a _tug_ inside Will – Hannibal Lecter was leering at him and it set his blood on fire.

Will shoved him off and took quick, backwards steps, deeper into the house. “Possessive, Hannibal?” Will breathed. Despite the Cuban heat, he shivered all over. His feet slowed.

“Not at all, Will. I would, however, suggest,” Hannibal rose from the chaise, “for maximum audience,” and matched Will’s steps, “you touch yourself on the front doorstep and give our neighbours a proper gift for their hospitality.”

Adrenaline jumped up and down Will’s chest and legs and he stepped around furniture and up the couple of stairs to the mezzanine floor, towards the kitchen. He struggled to keep his footing and keep his eye on Hannibal. His husband was moving quicker now, crowding him into the house. Hannibal subtly changed his advanced, driving Will towards the leg of the hall table.

“And what would you do to them? If I gave them such a gift?”

“It would be the most gracious and divine sight they would behold. Nothing could compare.”

“And happiness is paramount to flavour.”

“How _sweet_ they would be.” Hannibal feigned a lunge. Will jumped, snagged his hip on the hall table and teetered on his feet and Hannibal’s big hands closed in for the catch.

But Will, instinctive and quick, twisted like a dancer and smacked Hannibal’s hands away. They both fell in tandem on to the terrazzo tiles. Will’s slippery feet fought for traction, caught a moment before Hannibal’s socks did, and he launched himself into the dark house.

Will didn’t quite understand why he was running – it was a compulsion, a demand – it felt like a mating ritual. The prickles in his scalp, the shivers in his blood, ache in his knees and balls.

It felt so fucking good.

Not a single light was on in the house and Will softened the stomp of his hurrying feet as much as he could. Hannibal moved wraith silent, but tonight, blood thrumming with alcohol and lust – his breathing was a fraction above a whisper and the sound crawled between the house walls. In this moment now, Will was hunted by hunger itself.

Down the corridor, past endless doors; there were several entry points, he was too exposed – a breath to his left, Will ducked, felt the hiss of claws, and let inertia take him. He spun on his toes; his elbow met soft meat. A breathless kiss against his neck, heat from his nipples to his thighs, Will slipped the caging arms and sprinted through an open door.

The laundry.

Through the back door, Will’s toes skimmed the space stones. He didn’t slow when he met the gate, but grabbed its lip and launched himself above it, head and hips and legs level for an instant, before he landed on soft sand.

Hannibal couldn’t make a jump like that. Will grinned. The gate lock rattled behind him. He took off, slipped into the shadowed outskirts.

There was little cover away from the property line; the bulging moonlight gleamed. It turned the sand to molten silver. The deepest shadows were in the sparse vegetation. He headed for them, creeping quickly down the sides of the neighbouring houses. Music and clinking glasses peppered the whitewash of the ocean. Will slipped between the tropical bushes. A rough hand through his hair disturbed his curls and offered him a little cover between the leaves.

A solitary silhouette stood on the sand, not too far from their gate. It turned its face to the moonlight, and its black profile was stark against the gleaming sand, its nose high in the air. Its head twitched once. Twice.

And then looked at him.

They were endlessly connected in that single suspended moment.

The silhouette’s legs opened – it strode for him - and Will turned into the darkness.

It was difficult to hurry with an erection, but Will managed it. He slipped between the trees and kept away from the moonlight as much as he could, as each kiss of it lit up his skin. Hannibal’s linen suit was a little harder to spot – ever the predator, his camouflage tailored to his environment. Will was dressed for an indulgent evening, not a hunt.

Come to think of it, those chips just _happened_ to appear in the pantry the night before last… No. Hannibal didn’t orchestrate this. He was too surprised, too eager. He was as much a creature of instinct as Will was.

Instinct.

Will slipped into a dense section of vegetation, mid-way between the houses and beach. There was little space between the trees. Will doubled backed, brushed his hair with his fingers and then ran them along the smooth trunks and leaves, creating a chaotic boundary line, and then settled in to hide.

A few seconds passed. A minute. Will lost count in this liminal space, but he was alone, and then there was movement, almost entirely silent, directly to his left. So close. A metre separating them. Hannibal’s soft foot falls between the bushes, feet rolling through the earth, back coiled low, nose and eyes searching. With the saturation, Hannibal was unable to pinpoint him.

Hannibal leant, peering above the undergrowth that lead out on the street, slowly panning–

Will launched himself, arms open, just as Hannibal turned to meet him and they embraced as lovers. Will expected violence and grabbed and yanked, forced his advantage, but Hannibal simply… yielded. He let himself be shoved to the dirt, a radiant smile on his face.

Will hesitated… and Hannibal flipped them, catching Will’s arms and shoving him to his belly. Hannibal ground his sizable erection against the plush of Will’s backside and the ex-profiler moaned, hips arching, the pit in his belly dropping in anticipation of being filled to bursting.

“Hush, Will,” Hannibal whispered, and Will quickly staunched himself, tensing. “Let me have you.”

With a shudder, Will nodded and tipped his head back for a decadent kiss. The angle was sloppy, and Hannibal was already rutting against him.

“How gorgeous you are,” Hannibal growled into his neck. Confident now the ritual had been satisfied, Hannibal released Will’s hands and pulled off his underwear.

Rough and strong hands kneaded his backside. Will could only cant his hips, panting, trying to swallow the desperate sounds. He _had_ missed Hannibal – missed him fiercely all day; it had only been a year since their flight from America – any day they could be discovered – any day Hannibal could be taken from him. 

The _snic_ of a cap seemed too loud in their quiet pocket. Will muffled his laugh into the crook of his elbow – _of course_ Hannibal had grabbed the lube.

Hannibal bore down from above, the heat and wet of his cock trailing against intimate, sensitive places and he whispered into Will’s ear, “do you need stretching, love?”

Will arched, craned his head back, viciously bit Hannibal’s jaw, and dragged the cannibal down by his mouthful until he was braced on his palms. “ _Fuck me, Hannibal._ ”

Hannibal skimmed his hands down his back and Will dropped his head between his shoulders, curls brushing the dirt, as slick heat began to slide home.

“Will–” Hannibal gave a guttural curse, “you need to be quiet.”

Hannibal’s cock slid inside him like slowly melting butter, stretching a filling a space Will had once never known he’d needed stretched and filled. Now; he couldn’t live without it.

“Fuck _Hannibal!_ ”

A filthy hand smothered him, pulled him back against the pillar of Hannibal’s body. The action sheathed the sinking cock and Will moaned, hands groping, restless with the thrumming ache inside him he couldn’t alleviate. Hannibal snarled, subsonic and rumbling, and Will trembled, strained muscles twitching and clamping.

“Let’s give them a proper show then.”

Their bodies bent and melded together, echoing one another. Hannibal drove up and pulled down, and then parted them again, undulating like ancient ocean waves, never parting properly from each other, relentlessly rolling at the precipice of another. Hannibal couldn’t bear drawing away, driving his cock back inside Will to the very hilt, savouring each smack their bodies made, each bitten and choked sound that spluttered against his fingers from Will’s smeared lips. Hannibal wanted to remove his hand. He wanted to hear Will sing, full throated and mad… but he also didn’t want them arrested.

Will held on for his life, both hands white knuckled in the dirt, eyes scrunched tight, but for the moments they bulged open, overwhelmed and teary with each strike against his prostrate. His cock swung between spread legs, ruddy and fat, trailing white sprigs, fertilising the earth. He wanted to stroke himself but couldn’t quite manage it, elbows locked as he was rocked backwards and forwards on his knees, fucked like a captured mate. Hannibal’s cock lit up every nerve inside him, huge and molten inside him, Hannibal fucked him like he wanted to open him entirely, stuff every empty crevice and gap– Will moaned, eyes rolling back, falling to his elbows, his back creaking into an impossible parabola. He was folded in two, his world reduced to the earth below him, the weight trapping him above, and the cock plunging inside him.

Hannibal bore down Will’s descent, their bodies falling like collapsing buildings, limbs tangling into a mess that neither could properly delineate. Hannibal reached out beneath an arm and grabbed it and it was Will’s. He used it as leverage and pierced him to the full hilt and stayed there. He savoured the breakout of shivers and twitches and agitated quivers of Will’s body.

Will gasped, bit his lips bloody raw. Trapped as he was, he had so little movement available to him, but he did what he could, tightly bucking his ass against the plush of Hannibal’s tummy, clenching with each bolt of rough pleasure that ached in his balls.

“Give it to me,” Will moaned into the dirt, twirling his hips just as Hannibal liked, jolting with each plush pass Hannibal’s cockhead made inside him. Hannibal snapped his hips _hard_. And then again. And again. His fingers pressed bruises where they clawed Will’s skin. Again, again, again, again.

“Touch yourself,” Hannibal snarled, and Will leant on one arm, and reached beneath himself, closing his fingers around his purpled cock. It hurt in the most sacred ways, gored and speared and loved and pleasured. Will massaged his glands, no lube necessary as he smeared the copious precum around them, clever fingers stoking the inferno inside him. He was _so close_. He just _needed_ –

Hannibal stuttered, jerking violently, torso exploding in low, quashed rumbles of pleasure and a molten flood gushed inside Will, heating him from the inside. Hannibal didn’t stop thrusting, eeking each drop of pleasure. His come spilt down Will’s thighs and caught the ocean breeze.

Will held his breath, hand a blur and he hurtled over the edge into oblivion, seeding the earth and his mind whited out with pleasure.

The last cognitive thought he could remember was

_How the hell will be we get back to the house?_

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone can tell me in how to embed images, I'll be forever grateful 😩


End file.
